


Mirrors

by jaysayheyyy



Category: Steam Powered Giraffe
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:02:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23321380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaysayheyyy/pseuds/jaysayheyyy
Summary: Pappy dies far too soon, and Rabbit is left desperately trying to pick up the pieces.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 15





	Mirrors

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for giving this a click! I wrote this after some friends on the SPG Amino inspired me by opening my eyes to the Becile AU. While this is most definitely not true to the AU at all, I found a spark and decided to fuel the flames of inspiration. This is what came of it. Hope you enjoy!

There was no love in this quiet manor, and Rabbit hated every second she spent in it. Silence was stifling, devoid of chatter, of laughter, of turning copper gears and hissing steam with pleased smiles exchanged between family. Silence meant scathing looks, tense shoulders and scornful glances, scowls turning lips down into displeased frowns and disappointment with everything she did. Quiet was suffocating, drowning her, pulling her further and further into an ocean of misery and grief still raw as the day Pappy died. The quiet made it harder to cry, too. Too loud. Though Becile had taken her ability to shed oil tears, she still made the noises. He insisted it was learned and could be unlearned, but crying felt instinctive. Deeper than programming or learnt motions and noises. A feeling, a sensation, drawn from her faux-heart of a core.

Once, what felt like forever ago, she had a family who loved her very much. A Pappy whose fascination of her quirks and human-like tendencies only grew with every new trick Rabbit revealed, a Ma who wiped her tears when he died and tucked her in at night when Pappy stopped being able to. Two wonderful people who cared for her, robotic as she was, like their own child. They didn’t know she was really a girl, so they called her their handsome son, but Rabbit still treasured every word. She wished she had the chance to tell them. But even if she could go back, she’d do it all the same, if only to see them again. If only to see Pappy smiling again.

They couldn’t make him smile, lying there in the coffin. They made him all pretty, makeup masking the ghostly white pallor of his skin, but they couldn’t turn his lips up into the lopsided grin Pappy wore when he was happy. Not many were privy to it; Ma and Rabbit were the only ones who could say they’d seen it, but neither mentioned it at the funeral. In fact, the only way Rabbit could attend the funeral was as a silent watcher beside his deathbed, a reminder of his wonderful creations and accomplished life. She had to hold her oily tears as best as she could and stay still as people dressed in black paid their respects. Only when the piano room emptied did Ma take Rabbit’s hand and hold her close as Rabbit sobbed for her Pappy. For all the things he took with him; nighttime stories and long, introspective talks, oohs and aahs over Rabbit’s complicated mind, smiles and laughs that lit up the room, twinkling eyes and gleaming goggles. . . Now the manor was cold. Alot of things changed when Pappy passed.

Ma couldn’t keep her. Pappy hadn’t left much behind; he’d never been very rich, and had spent most of his time and money on Rabbit. Fixing her many, many malfunctions, cataloging every glitch; then, before they knew it, he was dying and no longer able to squeeze Rabbit’s hand as tightly as he used to. Ma spent most of her time between Pappy and Rabbit, the lines in her face deeper each day with newfound stress. No amount of prayers, no matter how vehement or pleading, could save Pappy.

After the funeral, no one knew what to do with Rabbit. She still malfunctioned, still needed work, still needed constant maintenance that no one could give her. Pappy hadn’t perfected her, and that was obvious in every tick of her clockwork. Even if she knew how her insides worked, she had no clue how to fix them. A decision had to be made. So, Pappy’s sons, the Walter twins, spoke with Ma very gently and very upfront about the situation. Rabbit could stay, but they’d all have to watch her waste away, unable to afford her repairs. In the same way Pappy had slowly deteriorated, so too would Ma’s dear Rabbit. Or, Rabbit could be sold off to someone who would care for her, someone with experience in maintaining automatons that would give Rabbit a good life.

Neither asked what Rabbit wanted.

Ma made her decision; she would not watch her daughter die, not like she watched Pappy lose himself. Maybe that was selfish. Maybe that was the wrong choice to make. But, still dazed with grief and mourning, Ma made the difficult decision to sell Rabbit. Maybe Rabbit would have understood, if she’d been given to someone kind. But there are always maybes and what-ifs and no one can ever say for certain what would happen if any came true, because they didn’t happen. We can only wonder. What happened was this: Thaddeus Becile bought Rabbit for a very hefty sum of money that was easily split between Ma and the twins, and tore her from her carefully knit family in one fell swoop.

Becile did not give her a room like Pappy had. Robots didn’t need their own room; she wasn’t a child, she was an automaton, and she was to act like it. Her space was restrained to a small chair in the very corner of the workshop, where she could charge her backup generators via a short, slightly frayed charging cord. She thought that she might be able to handle that. She couldn’t afford to be picky, not when Ma only wanted her to be safe and sound, not when Becile could easily throw her out like scrap metal and start over now that he had her blueprints. So she stayed quiet, nodding along as if she understood when she could never understand how a mother could abandon her daughter. Then Becile explained The Rules.

“You are to be silent unless spoken to.” He told her, pacing around her as he appraised the craftsmanship of her Pappy. Silent? She parted her lips to speak, only to receive a scowl from the cold man. She shut her mouth. At least she learned quick. He continued, “You will stay in the workshop at all times. There is oil if you need to change yours and water to power your boilers.” What about family dinners, or lunches, or breakfasts? How would she keep herself entertained? This was sounding like an awfully lonely life. Her shoulders slumped. She moved to speak again, and once more, Becile scowled her way. She shut her mouth. “There will be absolutely no playing music.” Becile added harshly at her longing look at her melodica on the workshop table. She already knew what he was going to do as soon as he moved, but horror planted her in place. “In fact,” Becile took the melodica and tossed it into the trash. Rabbit couldn’t help the pained whine that escaped her.

“N-N-No!” She exclaimed, moving to retrieve it, but Becile stopped her with an outstretched arm. It wasn’t broken, not yet, but that was hers. She could take the dismal chair. She could deal with the broken charger. But her melodica, her music, that was her livelihood. Pappy had made her to play music; without it, she felt alone. Like Pappy couldn’t watch over her anymore. She stepped back, unwilling to push past and possibly hurt the man, but argued, “What am I spo’sd to do, then? Sit around?” Becile sighed as if she were a petulant child and he the annoyed teacher.

“Yes, as all other robots do.” He told her, tapping his fingers against his crossed arms.“What in the world did Peter teach you? You are not a child, The Rabbit, you are a robot and you will act like one.”

“Rabbit.” She stubbornly corrected, crossing her arms. Becile scowled deeper. “My name’s Ra-Ra-Rabbit.”

“And that awful stutter-- I must fix it immediately.” Becile continued, as if she hadn’t spoken. Rabbit put a hand up to her lips and shook her head. No! Absolutely not! Pappy had loved her stutter. Said it made her more friendly to the people still wary of her existence.

“No! There’s nothin’ here ta fix. Pappy made me just fine.”

“You’re supposed to do that, then?” Becile asked, a brow raised in disbelief.

“Well, no. . .”

“Then it must be repaired, as all broken things must.” He said, ending the argument there firmly. Rabbit wanted to argue so very badly, feeling stressed, but the man just kept on talking. “Which brings me to my final and most important rule; you will not, under any circumstances, stop me from inspecting you. Inside or outside.”

“You wanna ta-ta-ta-take me apart?” Rabbit exclaimed, recoiling slightly in horror. Pappy never demanded that from her. He had been gentle, kind, asking and never ordering. Of course, since he was her Pappy and she trusted him implicitly, she always allowed him to do what he needed to. The thought of someone carelessly digging around within her made her metal skin crawl. Plus, what if Becile broke something and had no clue how to fix it? She didn’t want him changing Pappy’s painstakingly made work. Becile huffed. He was beginning to look upset.

“I must study your mechanisms,” He explained impatiently, “as you are a Becile automaton now.” No, she wasn’t. She’d never be his. She was a Walter, daughter of Peter Walter and Iris Walter, and nothing Becile did could change that!

“I won’t let cha.” Rabbit decided firmly. She wrapped her arms around her torso with a fierce glare, lids dropping to narrow her eyes in what she hoped was a defensive manner. It didn’t matter if he owned her; she would not, could not, allow him to destroy what was left of Pappy in her. Every gear, every wire, every bit and screw was a little bit of Pappy she was allowed to keep. It was all she had left of him, after all. Memories didn’t do him justice; she missed his warmth dearly, and if she could conjure up the feeling of his hugs with every piece of her that had been made by his hands, she would keep it close.

To her surprise, Becile left it at that. Or so she thought.

When she awoke the next day, her body was not her own. Her limbs were locked, paralyzed, refusing to even twitch no matter how hard she tried to function. Her eyes stayed stubbornly shut, waiting for someone to open them, someone with the key she didn’t have. Panic swelled in her chest, but her hydraulics stayed rhythmic, the same beat they’d always sounded despite her fear. Her boiler bubbled along as it always had. What an awful feeling that was, to feel fear in your head and not in your body, to feel it wrapping around you and find yourself unable to react. She wanted to wake up, wanted to stand and run away, but her mind had been locked away, her body out of her control.

“Rise, Rabbit. We have work to do.” Becile’s words had her eyes flicking open, gears clicking and whirring as her legs carried her up and over to the workbench already waiting for her. Just like that. She wanted to stop, wanted to turn and scream at him, but she was blank-faced, features frozen in a neutral expression. Even her speakers refused to communicate her horror, silent as the grave Pappy lay in. Realization clawed at her hysteric mind. Becile had control over her now. Control that she couldn’t fight. Her panic washed away, swiftly replaced by despondence. She sat on the workbench unwillingly, meeting Becile’s satisfied gaze as he wielded a screwdriver, goggles perched atop his head lopsidedly. The cruel man looked like a twisted version of Pappy with his goggles like that, her reflection muddled in the dark glass. He knew exactly what he had done, and he didn’t care what he’d taken from her.

Rabbit was still as a stone, and Becile took her apart.

When he finished, what felt like forever later, she was sent back to her chair. Her cursed chair. There she stayed, staring at the wall, even after his control faded away and she was left slumped, still reeling. Becile hovered for a bit, watching, waiting, but Rabbit was still frozen. How could he? What had he even done to her, to take over her body like that? It felt disgusting. This new code in her head felt like a parasite sapping away at the defiant fire she’d painstakingly maintained, leaving her empty and still aching with grief. She longed for home. Warm fireplaces and laughter, stories and triumph. Not the dull hum of the workshop, not the grey walls and dark floor. Not the silence eating at her mind.

Her trembling hand rose to hover over her chest, where Becile had already replaced some of her gears with shining, unscathed new ones colored silver. No one would be able to see them unless they opened her hatch, but she could still feel them, feel the wrongness of them. They ran too smoothly, not even the same color as all her other gears, grating on her frayed nerves despite their higher quality. She wanted her old parts back. Not the ones Becile had made, not the ones he’d molded, shone, and inserted, but Pappy’s slightly clunky, off-beat pieces. The ones that caught every rotation, the ones that sometimes made screeching noises when she pushed herself too far. Familiar beats in her chest, a heart made with care.

Not a _stranger’s_ work.

Eventually Rabbit pulled herself together, albeit in very cracked and broken metaphorical pieces, wondering what else was wrong about her, now. Becile hadn’t just fiddled with her gears. He’d done something to her face, too, something she already dreaded to find out. The man was long gone now, but she couldn’t help her hesitation at leaving the chair. Still, morbid, defeated curiosity tugged her towards pieces of glass carefully set on some bench a few feet away. She hesitated to lean over them, gloved hands hovering over her face. Was she ready? She didn’t know, but she knew she needed to face it now before it all bubbled up inside her and choked her. So, forwards she leaned.  
Immediately Rabbit found oil tears flowing down her cheeks. Gone was the green patina Ma had called adorable. It had been scrubbed off to expose copper cheeks gleaming in the light, clean and nothing like the reflection she’d come to know. Her cheek vents, too, had been removed, exposing her metal teeth. Teeth that had once been to make her look more human were now sharp as knives, silver blades that were made to hurt and she knew it. Why else would he have installed them?

“You’ve discovered your upgrade, then?” Becile called from behind her. Rabbit froze, hands flying to her mouth to try and stifle her cries. “Look at me when I’m speaking to you.” The man demanded lowly. Rabbit couldn’t; he’d take it away if he knew she had been crying. Don’t let him take it away, don’t let him take it away, don’t-- her body moved without her permission, back straightening and hands lowering to her sides. Her brow plates unfurrowed and her grimace faded, leaving blankness in its place. Becile tutted, looking annoyed as Rabbit turned to face him in a perfect 180. “Another malfunction.” He grumbled. He sighed, grabbing an oil stained rag, and wiped her face roughly as he spoke, “I’ve adjusted you to fit the purpose I’ve decided for you. Many people want the technology that I have, you see, and you will be the one to protect me and my belongings. Do you understand?”

Rabbit didn’t speak. Her thoughts raced a mile a minute, wishing to be with her family, back with Ma and Pappy and even the twins, no matter how influential they’d been in selling her. She wanted to turn back the clock, back to when she was happy, back to when she was home. The Becile manor was not her home. Thaddeus Becile was not the man she wanted to protect. But if she found a way to leave, somehow, what happened next? Where would she go? And if she left. . . Oh, would he hunt her down and melt her to pieces, start her all over again as the robot he wanted? The thought terrified her. To be completely scrapped just like that. . . the realization dawned on her, crashing down with the weight of the sky onto her shoulders. She was trapped. There would be no more Ma, no more Pappy, no more playing and laughing and learning. Becile owned her now.

“Do you understand?” Becile repeated impatiently, still watching, still cold and cruel and everything Pappy wasn’t. Shadows, where Pappy was light. Looming over her, darkening her future, damning her to a life of misery and sorrow and opportunities left behind, dreams crushed under his leather boots.

“Yes.” Rabbit said quietly, because she did understand, now. This was her inevitability; freedom was no longer an option for her.

He called her Hare, now. It was fitting; she wasn’t herself anymore. There was no Rabbit, not on the surface level. There was only Hare, Becile’s loyal guard dog who followed him wherever he went. Out in public he shamelessly showed her-- him, now, as much as he hated it-- off, going so far as to walk around town simply to showcase him and his protective programming. He listened and did as he was told, obedient as the dog they called him, wrapping himself in the persona of Hare that Becile so carefully cultivated. It was better this way. Hare was the one hurting. He was the one who had to intimidate, he was the one who had to bow to Becile like some sort of slave, he was the one who did exactly as he was told.

Rabbit was the one screaming in his head. Wreaking havoc, still grieving, still betrayed and lost and begging Ma to bring her home! Let Rabbit die for all she cared! Death was better than this. Let her be free; let her see Pappy again. Let her reunite with him, if robots went to heaven. And if not, at least she’d be away from Becile. But Hare ignored these thoughts, true as they were. Through the motions Hare went, burying his real self as far as he could, locking her away so no one had to see. So he could be exactly what everyone wanted. Day by day it was the same pattern; accompany Becile as a silent watcher, staring down anyone who dared eye him for too long, and then go back to the manor and sit in the chair until called for. It was a cycle of apathy Hare couldn’t pull himself out of.

The days ticked by, on and on like clockwork. Days melded together until Hare stopped counting. What was it worth? He was stuck in a pool of quicksand and he was sinking fast. The world around him could be exploding with colors and life and wonder and love and he would be still, silent, lips locked shut unless spoken to. He was Hare, quiet and snippish and all glares. He buried the memories of Ma, of Pappy and of warm embraces, of hands intertwined and of quiet bids goodnight, of kisses just brushed against her-- his forehead. He buried love, buried happiness, buried care and everything that was Rabbit with every day he spent acting as nothing more than a guard dog trodding in Becile’s footsteps.

His reputation, though, was mere rumor. People spoke of the copper automaton that obeyed Becile without question, sure, but they didn’t know his name. Didn’t know his harsh words like whips cracking, hadn’t seen his scowls that sent people running in the opposite direction. They would, though. 

Another day out with Becile. Another day of following in his footsteps, chin held high despite Hare’s low spirits, snarling at anyone who dared look too long. The town was crowded today, sunny and joyful with vendors pushing their products despite the heat. Hare resisted a shudder and pointedly glared ahead, grinding his sharp teeth every so often. Just to keep up appearances. All was going as well as could be.

Then, Hare spotted a calloused hand reaching for Becile’s pocket watch carelessly hanging from his pant pocket, and the automaton simply reacted. He let out a loud growl, snatching the stranger’s wrist in his iron grip and wrenching the offender forwards from the safety of the crowd. Hare avoided stumbling into Becile, planting his feet as he sneered down at the man who’d reached for the shining golden watch. Hare’s sharp teeth gleamed under the unforgiving sun, sinister and sharp. Unlike others, he might actually bite.

“Stealing?” Becile spoke up from behind Hare, stepping up beside him. “Hare, let the man go.” Becile’s eyes glinted with nefarious intentions, however, and Hare unfortunately caught the memo. Hare huffed and threw the man harshly to the ground, to the horror of the bystanders now gathered watching. The stranger, quivering in fear, fell to the feet of some other person gawking at the scene. All eyes were on him. “Stand down.” Becile ordered, and as sick as it made him, Hare stepped in line behind Becile like the perfect servant he had been programmed to be. The smile on his master’s face couldn’t mend the sudden hole of dread in Hare’s stomach, but Hare carefully kept his composure.

Becile simply stared down at the man who’d attempted to steal from him, laughed, and continued on his merry way. As he went, he turned just slightly to look back at Hare with an expression radiating satisfaction and triumph. His lips curled back to expose yellowed teeth, and he spoke three words Hare would only hear once from him.

“Good job, Hare.”

Victory hadn’t felt like harsh defeat till now.

Hare was seated on the workbench when it happened. Becile was tinkering with something in Hare’s arm, some sort of joint in his elbow. The automaton avoided looking, his eyes carefully averted to just over his master’s shoulder, a neutral position not curious enough to irritate Becile and not apathetic enough to make the man call for his automaton’s attention. Once again Hare counted the lines in the grey walls, every spot and discoloration, until Becile casually spoke up.

“We are attending the Walter Exhibition.”

Hare barely stopped himself from twitching, his eyes sliding downwards to meet Becile’s with the carefully maintained neutrality he’d practiced for-- well, how long now? He wasn’t sure. The facade barely stayed maintained at Becile’s words. He subdued the words bubbling up in his throat, ignoring the ache in his core, ignoring the sad song of his Blue Matter. They were only going to the exhibition. That was it; he probably wouldn’t even see Ma-- Miss Tonia, he corrected himself, or the twins, to be perfectly honest. No matter how much that hurt. Hare nodded once, acknowledging the human man’s careless words. Becile hummed and continued tinkering. Hare averted his eyes once again, clenching his jaw as he waited for Becile to leave.

When the man finally picked up his tools and left, Hare let himself fall apart. For the first time in a very long time, Hare spoke out into the quiet workshop. Swears and curses of all kinds tumbled past his sharpened teeth, spilling from his lips like a waterfall held back by stone walls that had shattered apart. He slid off the bench and tore off his cap, throwing it to the ground and stomping on it numerous times in a fruitless attempt to rid himself of some of the red hot frustration heating his core to dangerous temperatures.

“Gah!” He exclaimed, and halted, wincing at the echo of his voice through the emptiness. He peered around cautiously, waiting for the stomp of Becile’s agitated footsteps, but thankfully none came. He must be on the second or third floor, then. Hare growled, a bit quieter this time, and picked his cap up off the floor. He dusted it off a bit too harshly, accidentally catching a claw in the fabric. It tore a small slit that only had Hare more upset, chucking the flimsy hat to the wall. It thumped against the concrete and landed in a sad heap in, ironically enough, the chair Hare was allotted. The sight had the fight draining from Hare in a sudden sweep, leaving him trembling from head to toe as despair replaced anger. His shoulders slumped.

“I can’t do this again.” He murmured. The silence had no reply for him. So he sighed, and stood in the wreckage that was his mind. His skin felt as though it were crawling, like bugs were under the plating buzzing anxiously. He felt wrong again, hands curled into fists that shook so badly he couldn’t even try to hold them still. He was going back to the manor after-- how long had it been, anyway? Panic spiked once more in his mind. When was his last memory file of Ma?

Wait. That couldn’t be right. There was no way, was there? Had it. . . really been that long? When did he let himself grow so careless? Apathy had dragged him down into her depths and time had left him in the darkness of it all. The date on the file stared back at him hauntingly, little grey numbers that felt as though they were burned into the back of his eyelids. No.

He saw Ma for the very last time three years ago.

It couldn’t be right; Hare was already pacing at the thought, trying to work off his panic, hands reaching up to grasp at his now exposed head. His synthetic hair had long been removed by Becile to allow ease of access into his main circuitry. The new plating itched, painfully so, throbbing aches of missing what he’d had so long ago. He missed being Rabbit. He missed home. He wanted to go home.

If only he could stay there.

The day came, and almost automatically, Hare stuck himself to Becile’s side as he had for the last three years. He was still reeling from the realization and Becile could tell, but the man did not mention it, somehow trusting that Hare could keep his composure. Three years of serving him and Becile probably thought Hare was completely under his control. But Rabbit was still there, still struggling to stay afloat in troubled waters, still swimming through crashing waves that tried to drown her. She refused to leave him, nagging at his mind. It would be so much easier if he could just be rid of her, but. . . he didn’t want to, really. Because Rabbit was hope. Rabbit was his symbol of longing for what he dreamed of.

He still dreamed, even as Hare. If there was anything he and Rabbit had in common, it was hope for a better life. A dream, an aspiration, to be free. Maybe one day, when Becile met his end (Hare hoped it was an awful one, as horrible as that sounded), Hare could be free. He could be Rabbit again. And maybe. . . maybe he could go back home and stay there. Stay at Ma’s side for as long as he wished, exchanging stories about Pappy and all his wonder, ones Hare still thought back to when things got too awful to handle alone.

The sight of the manor was enough to bring back the feeling of grief he had drowned for so long. His face twitched in a strange way. Thankfully, Becile didn’t notice, slightly ahead of Hare to obviously show who owned who. Hare followed Becile, as he always did, but his thoughts were wild, rampant with memories clawing their way back up into his mind. Down that hall was the kitchen. Take a left and there were the stairs leading up to-- up to Rabbit’s old room. Right next to Ma and Pappy’s. He wondered if all his things were still there; when he’d been sold, he hadn’t been able to take anything but his melodica with him. To show off that he could play music, too, that he wasn’t just alive but capable of thought. Now look at him; reduced to nothing but sharp teeth and glaring eyes. No music; just sharp edges who cut anyone who looked his way.

In the dining hall there were two robots dutifully standing on the stage, both holding instruments and standing behind microphones. Hare almost stopped at the sight; there were more like him? Had Pappy designed others before he passed? Or did the twins make new ones from scratch and Pappy’s almost illegible notes? Oh, but another traitorous thought snapped to existence so quick it hurt. Did Miss Tonia make them? It took all of Hare’s willpower to ignore their own curious gazes and follow Becile to his seat. Betrayal nagged at his chest. He shoved the feeling down; he had a job to do. Even so, he wasn’t sure what to do in this situation, to be perfectly honest. Should he sit? Was he allowed to? Would he look foolish, a servant seated?

“Stand.” Becile quietly ordered, sensing Hare’s conflict, and so Hare stood. Easy. Follow orders as he had for the past three years-- He worked his jaw stressfully, sharp teeth glinting in the chandelier light, folding his arms behind his back with quiet clicks and whirs. Stop thinking. Hare tried to maintain neutrality, he truly did, but the automatons on stage captured his attention. Question after question flew around in his head like a tornado, tearing apart what flimsy walls he had left. Hare subtly studied the robots on stage, still achingly curious. And somewhat hurt. If they’d had enough money to make not one, but two new automatons, why couldn’t they keep Rabbit? Hare. He was Hare now, he reminded himself.

Back to the newest Walter automatons. One was colored silver and quite tall, dressed sharply in a red and black vest, long sleeved, collared, black shirt, and black dress pants. His black dress shoes shone under the light, freshly shined. Atop his head was a black fedora. His back was decorated with dull metal along his spine, blue lights glowing at the base to highlight the metal. Brand new and no sharp edges, even on the strange pieces on his back. Made to sing and play music. Like Rabbit, Hare thought, ignoring the aforementioned bot as she climbed to the surface of his mind.

The other robot was colored golden with long, blonde curls partially hidden under his own black tophat. He was dressed in a long sleeved, collared, black shirt with a red bowtie and red suspenders holding up his black pants. He was less stiff than the other, rocking on his heels and shifting his weight as if eager to play. He reminded Hare of Rabbit, too, all childlike innocence and excitement. Hare’s core sang a despondent tune of longing. The Walter automatons startled, looking confused for a moment as they scanned the room in quick flits of their eyes. Could they hear Hare’s song? The idea kicked up shame in his chest.

Both robots finally found themselves looking Hare’s way curiously, one pair of green eyes and one blue. Another thought kicked him down even further. Those green eyes looked like his. Like the ones Pappy gave him. He held back a shudder and tore his gaze away, choosing to instead scan the people around him. The Walter automatons still stared, but Hare had grown adept at ignoring stares by now. After three years. He shook the thought away and assessed his surroundings. Many of the people here were dressed just as sharply as Becile and all of them were watching the robots on stage, whispering amongst each other about the new Walter automatons. Though Hare did catch some mentions of his name. His reputation, as always, preceded him.

That’s right; Pappy hadn’t spoken about Rabbit to his colleagues. She’d been his little secret until he could perfect her, and thus, nobody had known of Rabbit until the funeral. But then she became Hare, Thaddeus Becile’s intriguing creation, and Rabbit was forgotten. Many of the murmurs Hare picked up on compared him to the two bots tuning their instruments, glances exchanged from his imposing figure to the easygoing Walter automatons smiling out at the crowd. Hare’s hands twitched, but other than that, he refused to react. Jealousy curled in his core.

The twins took the stage, introducing their creations with identical smiles and perfect synchronization. The ache in Hare’s chest only grew with every gesture they made, every word carefully chosen to boast their new, shining, unbroken automatons. Made to be friendly, programmed to sing and dance and entertain. The opposite of Hare. These new automatons were the perfect embodiment of what Rabbit was going to be. If he could still cry, he certainly would have been, stinging indignation at the unfairness of it all stabbing his core over and over again. Why did they get to live the life Rabbit had been cast away from? The robots, named The Spine and The Jon, sang a few songs to entertain the crowd. At his side, Becile seemed irritable.

Hare steadily refused to acknowledge their gazes burning holes in his forehead. This was too much; here was everything he’d wanted, everything he was supposed to have, and yet it was still so far from his grasp. This was where he belonged. He’d been made here, the original Walter automaton, the very first, and he had been torn away from it all. It was cruel, tearing him apart from the inside, Rabbit’s cries only growing louder with every minute spent listening to what could have been. He could imagine himself up there, finishing the harmonies, playing his melodica, filling the spot that was made for him. Those songs they performed? Hare recognized them. Each and every one. Pappy had written them for him to perform, after all.

When the music stopped and the mingling started, Hare could no longer stay at Becile’s side. He couldn’t stand to be there any longer, sick to his non-existent stomach, practically sprinting away with how desperate he was to be away from everyone. His feet carried him instinctively, down the hall, turning corners and stumbling down twisting corridors until he stopped, suddenly, almost tripping over the pale yellow carpet as he took in his surroundings.

A hallway, with three doors. One to his left with Miss Tonia’s name etched on a wooden nameplate. A handle gleaming gold, worn but still the same as he remembered it. It was slightly open, exposing a room he’d known since he’d learnt to climb the stairs lit with the warm light of the sun as it set slowly down the horizon. Hare found himself reaching out, pushing open the door further, holding his hydraulics still with anticipation. Was she here? Would she recognize him if she saw him now? The door creaked, as it always did, an issue Pappy had told them he was going to fix but never did as Rabbit always distracted him with her glitches. A small smile quirked Hare’s lips upwards. Nostalgia soothed the pain in his chest, though he still felt as though he might cry.

The room was empty. Disappointment and relief curled in his chest, clashing in odd ways. He wanted to see her, wanted to hug her again, but he was scared, too. What if she saw his teeth and felt so frightened that she screamed? Or maybe she’d know how he’d changed and hate him for it. Maybe she thought he was a stranger now, no longer her wonderful Rabbit. Hare’s hand tightened around the doorknob, warping the metal, causing him to withdraw with wide eyes. He breathed a sigh of steam, wishing he could still shed tears, trying to subdue the hiccups and sobs sneaking up into his throat. He very carefully shut Miss Tonia’s-- Ma’s door, stepping back for a moment.

The hiccups won over, and he was crying without the tears, all grief and no relief from his woe. He buried his face in his hands, leaning against the wall, willing himself to stop but unable to halt his shuddering noises, choked cries crackling his speakers. He stepped further down the hall, putting Ma’s room behind him, curling in on himself. He wanted to scream, coughing as if he could breathe, as if the tears were drowning him from within. Becile would tell him all this was learned, organic actions unbefitting of a robot such as himself, but Pappy would say differently. Crying was deeper than what you learned. It was natural, more than programming, nestled in the soul with all the other feelings Hare had tried so hard to bury.

Finally, after what felt like ages, the sobs stopped. Hare stood himself to his full height, letting his hands fall to his sides limply with various hisses of steam expelled from his back. He was. . . tired. Tired of pretending, tired of missing everything he’d lost. His body felt heavy. He’d known he was made of metal since he first opened his eyes, but he’d never felt it, not like this. Hare’s feet trudged onwards, his eyes sliding to catch on his old door. Once more he stopped, head turned but body forward, unwilling to enter. He didn’t want to know what they had done with all his things; he much rather imagined that it was still exactly how he left it, pristine and untouched, well-loved with no dust in sight.

He reached out daringly, tracing the lines of the wood and slightly cracked paint. Exactly as it had been the day Ma had called him down into the kitchen. She’d sat at the table with folded hands, knuckles white with tension, hair down and tangled as it flowed down her shoulders. Stress had worn her down to a shell of her former self. She’d sat him down, gently took his hand and squeezed it tight. With just the two of them, she told him what was going to happen, and in that moment, Hare’s heart had broken. If he focused, he could still hear her last words to him as Becile took him away.

“Goodbye, Rabbit,” She’d said, the words still clear in his head, “I love you dearly.”

Hare shook himself back to the present, slowly bringing his hand back to his side. All that was left now was a dull ache, persistent as the weeds in the garden Ma had always hated. He looked down the hall to the door of Pappy’s old room, stuck in place. Part of him wanted to go in one more time. Wanted to see what was left of Pappy in there. Did they keep his sporadically written notes? What happened to his favorite coat? His goggles, the ones Rabbit had first opened her eyes to? He went to step closer, tugged forward by some unseen force, when he heard the telltale hiss of steam that wasn’t his own.

“Hey, what’re you doin’ here?” He heard a voice ask from behind and froze, caught red-handed. He recognized that voice. It was The Spine, of the new Walter robots. Hare didn’t know what to do. How could he explain himself? The words caught in his throat. He turned around slowly, uncertain of how the bot would react to a stranger in such personal quarters. The Spine peered at him suspiciously, The Jon at his side. One, he could have handled, though sloppily. Two? Hare was rendered speechless. All his bravado he’d boasted over in the streets suddenly faded, replaced with Rabbit’s loss of words.

“Hiya!” The Jon chirped. Hare looked from The Spine to The Jon, silent. He couldn’t speak, not when he was once again on the verge of tears. His voice would devolve into sobs again and this time they’d be here to see him break down. And if they saw, they’d know he was weak. And that couldn’t happen, no matter what. Becile would have his head. So Hare stayed quiet, just staring, hands still at his sides. Mechanical, monotonous, as robots should be.

“Hello?” The Spine tried, leaning in closer and waving his hand in Hare’s face.

“Spine, not too close! He’ll bite your hand off!” The Jon exclaimed childishly. He sounded so much like Rabbit it stung. Had he been made in her likeness, then? Hare averted his eyes; his reputation, of course, had preceded him once again. He had half a mind to cover his exposed teeth, but stayed carefully still as he had learned to do after all these years. The Spine sighed and drew back, hands on his hips.

“Looks like he’s not like us, Jon.” The Spine said with a quiet sigh of steam. Hare’s stomach twisted uncomfortably.

“But the song!” The Jon argued.

“He’s not like us, Jon. Must've been our imaginations.” The Spine retorted, turning to leave. The Jon went to follow, glancing back at him, and suddenly Hare couldn’t hold himself back.

“She.” She corrected him, just loud enough for them to hear. Her eyes raised with a flicker of her old fire, challenging him to try and argue. “I’m a girl.'' The Jon’s lips turned into a grin, and The Spine smiled just slightly at her response. Both went to respond, but then panic dawned on Hare and her hands flew to her mouth in a futile attempt to shove the words back into the depths they’d crawled from. Her hands fluttered around her as she continued, voice cracking, “B-B-B-But don’t tell Mista Becile that! He’ll be so angry that he’ll have my he-he-he-head on a platta sayin’ I can’t think I’m a girl robut cause I was bui-bui-bui-built as a boy robut but I know I’m a girl robut and--” She slammed her hands back over her mouth, steam chugging from her vents, wishing she could bury herself right then and there.

“He’s wrong.” The Jon spoke up, stepping closer to her. “You can be a girl if you want to be.” Startled, Hare looked up at him with her hands still firmly placed on her mouth. Gently, The Jon raised his own hands and took hers away from her face, letting them fall at her sides.  
“Yeah, no need to panic over it.” The Spine added, adjusting his fedora, though he wore an expression of worry. “But, uh, you said--” The Spine was cut off by the stiffening of Hare’s joints as she involuntarily straightened at Becile’s sudden, intrusive, unspoken command. Down the hall, over The Spine’s shoulder, she saw him standing there, holding the remote that commanded her movements. Both The Jon and The Spine gaped at her, startled, as her expression smoothed out into neutrality, her hands folding behind her back with assorted clicks and whines.

“Come.” Becile ordered, voice low with anger. The Spine and The Jon whipped around, still puzzling out Hare’s sudden shift of behavior, looking from her to her master in confusion. Hare wished she could apologize, but all that left her was the pained noise her core made as she was forced to obey. The Spine and his brother looked to her once more as her sad song continued, broken notes like the sound of slamming your hands on the piano keys at random. Jangled and jumbled, yet somehow despairing. They were the only three who could hear, of course, but three was still too many. They knew, and now they’d seen her weakness.

“Hare--” The Jon called worriedly, but Hare’s feet were already moving, carrying her to Becile’s side. She turned mechanically as programmed, facing the Walter automatons. Her owner was cruel, giving her one last look at their horrified expressions. Now they knew that she was nothing but a puppet under Becile’s control. They’d thought she was like her; well, here was the reason they were wrong.

“Let’s go.” Becile said, turning on his heel and stalking down the hall. Hare didn’t want to follow, but her body moved automatically, leaving the Walter automatons gaping at her back. Had she been listening past her racing thoughts, she would’ve heard their conversation of realization.

  
“Hare.” The Jon repeated out loud, and then looked to the door they’d found her at. A nameplate crudely drawn in fading chalk stared back at them. The Spine followed his gaze, putting together the pieces at the same time The Jon did. “And she’s got a song like us.” Spine's expression morphed into shock. 

“Rabbit!” The Spine gasped, and looked back to Hare, only to find her long gone. He looked to his brother, horrified at the conclusion they’d both reached. “We need to tell Ma.” The Jon nodded firmly, and off they dashed, searching for Rabbit’s mother in the winding halls.

“This will not happen again.” Becile said. You will be the same obedient automaton I made you to be.  
“Yes, sir.” Hare agreed monotonously. I will find a way out of this.  
“Good.” You’re never escaping.

Hare couldn’t believe her luck; back to the Walter Manor they were going, three months later. Even after her behavior the first time they’d gone, Becile was still giving her a chance. Or maybe he was just very invested in Walter technology. Whatever the reason, Hare was still grateful. She knew it was her last chance to say goodbye. Maybe she wouldn’t even be able to speak it aloud. But that was okay. She was going back. Even if she couldn’t speak with her new automaton friends, it would be okay for her to just. . . be there. To be home. She would have to take what she could get before she got nothing at all.

As always, Hare took her place at Becile’s side. Hands behind her back, sharp fingers ready to defend from anyone who dared attack, glowing green eyes scanning the room almost obsessively. Part of it was her doing the job Becile expected her to, but another, more defeated part of her was looking for the Walter automatons she’d met. Hoping to catch their eyes, at least, to nod and ask for no more. To play her song, even, if it meant saying goodbye. But, as the night went on and Hare dutifully trailed behind Becile with every new face he greeted, her hope dwindled. The flame that had roared in her chest had died down to a small flicker. Neither bot had made an appearance all night. It had been hours, and despite being the subject of the gathering, The Spine and The Jon were nowhere to be found.. Hare’s shoulders slumped minisculely. She would let herself have that, at least. Maybe they didn’t want to see her. Maybe they’d been lying-- maybe they thought she was wrong, somehow, for being a girl in a boy’s body. Her jaw tightened.

The twins slipped past people to approach Becile, and Hare’s gears stopped turning for a second. There they were. The reasons she’d been sold, all laid out in front of her, taunting her as they glanced her way with pitying looks. Her fingers twitched as resentment sparked in her chest. With practiced ease, the twins started a conversation with Becile, subtly moving him closer towards the center of the room. Why, she couldn’t guess. They didn’t look at her, but she had expected that. Both twins were gesticulating wildly as Becile started growing more invested in their words. Distracted, even, Hare thought. As she had been all night, Hare went to begrudgingly follow, when a hand roughly tugged her back.

Another quickly covered her mouth, an entirely useless endeavor as her voice came from speakers, but she understood the gesture nonetheless. She held back her instinctive growl and ripped her hand from their grasp, whipping around to see who had dragged her off to the sidelines. To her shock, The Spine put a silver finger to his metal lips with wide, green eyes, glancing from her to over her shoulder, where Becile was being led away in his distraction. Hare gaped at him for a moment. He was here! And he was-- stealing her? She looked from the twins to The Spine. Had they planned this? The Spine beckoned for her to follow and turned on his heel, hastily walking to a door almost hidden from sight behind the stage.

Hare hesitated. This couldn’t happen again; Becile would really have her head then, and maybe this time he’d scrap her for certain. But here was an opportunity to leave his side, unstick herself from the glue, break her chains if only for a while. To get to say her goodbyes, truly this time. It was tantalizing. She knew the repercussions if Becile realized, which she knew he would, but her feet were already moving as she followed in her own haste. The Spine was waiting for her behind the door, and led her out of the prop room to the hall, where she began to recognize her surroundings again. Where she had been following, she was now at The Spine’s side, her fingers just grazing the photos on the walls as nostalgia pried open old wounds that had never healed properly.

She stopped at a portrait in the middle of the hall. Three figures smiled back at her, two human and one robotic, seated close together like family. They had been, even if not bound by blood. Pappy, much younger, sat with his goggles still perched atop his messy curls. This picture had been painted a few years before his untimely death, she recalled. Beside him Ma smiled softly, her hands folded in her lap, her shoulders leaning towards Pappy unconsciously. And then there was Rabbit, sat on her knees in front of them, grinning from ear to ear. Her metallic skin shone, polished just for the picture, though it’d taken her forever to sit still enough for the picture to be painted.

Hare smiled wobbly at that. She remembered that day like it had been yesterday. Ma’s fussing over her outfit, Pappy’s nonchalance about looking nice, the wonderful lunch they’d had afterwards (though she’d had to simply watch, unable to eat). Steam hissed past her lips in a sigh. The Spine was quiet beside her, letting her reminisce. She was grateful for his understanding, and went to thank him, when her eyes caught sight of two people hurrying her way.

The Jon, tugging along. . .Ma.

Ma stopped just a few feet away from Hare, her lips parting as a gasp escaped her. Hare felt like a deer in headlights, hand still in the air, fingers on the frame of the portrait. She didn’t dare move, taking in her Ma, now three years older. Her hair was still in the same bun, though a bit messier and with many more grey hairs. Her eyes shone with unshed tears Hare wished she could share. Despite all the new stress lines and graying hairs, Ma still looked the same as when Hare left her. Ma’s hands reached up to cup Hare’s cheeks despite the sharp teeth just inches from her fingers. Her head tilted, taking in every detail of Hare’s face, and the tears started falling, salty and warm as they plopped to the carpeted floor.

“Rabbit. My son.” She murmured, choked. Hare felt her own invisible tears forming, her brow plates scrunching together. Tremors overtook her, her plating clanging together. Her gears skipped and struggled to stay steady, boiler heating. Her chin trembled. Then the whimpers came, followed by gasps and choked sobs that had Ma gaping at her, still crying. Rabbit hadn’t cried, not until Pappy died, and even then it was still new to Ma. Her tears tripled as she realized Hare was crying and brought their foreheads together, her warmth engulfing Hare. God, she missed this. She missed her Ma.

“Ma,” She cried, wrapping her arms around the maternal woman as tight as she dared. The Walter automatons stayed quiet, allowing them space. Hare was grateful for that, at the very least. Not many people allowed her such mercies.

“I am so, so sorry, Rabbit.” Ma mourned. “I should have never given you up.” Hare buried her face in Ma’s shoulder, mindful of all her sharp edges, shaking from head to toe. She didn’t want to let go. She much rathered her chains tethering her to Ma’s side than Beciles, squeezing her eyes shut.

“Given up?” The Jon repeated from The Spine’s side, both bots looking taken aback. Ma looked up at him, wiping her thick tears, gently parting from Hare. Hare carefully wrapped her fingers around Ma’s wrist, loose enough to let her leave any time she wished, but unwilling to fully let go. Not yet. Ma breathed a heavy, guilt-ridden sigh. She looked to Hare, then to her new, shiny automatons, and averted her eyes.

“When Peter passed, I--” Ma started.

“HARE!” Becile’s furious voice boomed, cutting off Ma. Hare startled, withdrawing as though Ma’s hand had burned her, head whipping over to look back at Becile with wide, frightened eyes. He was fuming, the twins stumbling into the hallway behind him with equally panicked looks. He did not stalk forward, though, instead withdrawing his remote programmed to control Hare. He snarled, almost growling gutturally, fists trembling. “Come.” He ordered through gritted teeth, pressing a button on the remote.

Hare felt her limbs lock as her face smoothed out into blankness. Her feet began to move on their own, but she thought of Ma’s face. Of her voice, exactly as she remembered it. Of the apologies that spilled from her lips like a waterfall. No, Hare thought. I will not bow. And her feet planted themselves firmly where she stood. She was shaking from head to toe with the effort to stop herself from moving, fighting back against the code in her mind, battling with all her might. She refused to obey. Not when Ma was so close, close enough for her to reach out and touch, close enough to stay at her side. Becile’s eyes widened. He looked from her to the remote in disbelief and pressed the button again. The code strengthened, now doubled, but Hare stood tall as a tree, firm where she was, rooted in place.  
It took everything in her to turn to face Ma. Every part of her body was fighting against her, her gears, her wiring, her joints and her bellows, but her core still sung her song. Her movements were jerky, not anywhere near as graceful as she usually was, but they did the job. She met Ma’s horrified gaze.

“I-I-I-I-I dooooo--” Click, as her head snapped to the side, but she wrestled it back, “oooon’t wanna-wanna-wanna--” Her voice rose in pitch. She struggled to force it back down to normal. “--wanna go!” Her head kept snapping back towards Becile, her arms now out of her control as they folded behind her back. Another wave of code washed over her with the simple press of a button. Her control was wavering now, her core hot in her chest, glowing through her shirt. Her song increased in tempo, wild and panicked. Distantly she heard two songs reaching out to hers, but they were too quiet in the chaos of her own.

“Mister Becile! Cease this immediately!” Ma exclaimed, horrified. She scrubbed at her tears as her face turned beet red with anger and despair.

“Hare is my automaton!” He shouted back. “He will obey me and only me!” Hare shuddered, feeling ill with all the noise in her head. Rabbit screamed for her to keep fighting. Her grip was slipping, though, and off the cliff she was about to plummet. There was one last thing she wanted to say, though. She had to say it. So she pushed, harder and harder, using all her mental might. Say it!

“I looooooove youuuuuuu, Ma.”

Ma’s breath hitched, a pained noise tearing from her throat. She sounded like she did when Pappy died. She looked it, too, like everything she’d loved was being torn from her grasp, leaving her with bloodied fingers that had tried so very hard to hold on tight. The code won over Hare’s mind and body. Her arms folded neatly. Her legs carried her to Becile’s side. He was still fuming, but the fight was over. He had won. Ma made another strangled noise at the sight of Hare’s blank expression. The Jon and The Spine’s songs chimed high pitched noises that shrieked with discontent.

“This is wrong.” Peter Walter III spoke gravely from behind her.

“You have no right to treat him like this.” His brother agreed solemnly. Becile tched, turning his back to Ma with a scowl. Hare turned with him, though she had enough strength to let her gaze linger on Ma and her brothers as she did so. She would give herself that, at least.

“I have every right.” Becile retorted. “You sold him to me, after all.” He shouldered past them roughly, uncaring of manners, Hare following with mechanical ease, though they stepped aside for her. Their guilt and shock left them in stunned silence, and so Becile left with Hare in tow. By the tenseness still in Becile’s shoulders, Hare had a feeling that this would be the last time she saw them. Or anything, for that matter. Becile had her blueprints. He could just. . . start over. Make the Hare that he wanted. The thought had occurred many times before to her, but it hadn’t felt possible till now.

Punishment was due, Becile said. He was tired of Hare’s disobedience. She fought as hard as she could, but Becile’s control had only tripled over her exhaustion. She’d said her goodbyes, said what she’d been locked away for years, and now she was quietly resigned to her fate as Becile shut her down for what she thought might be the very last time. When she woke, would she still remember everything dear to her? Would she still be able to imagine the calluses of Pappy’s fingers against her plating? Or would she wake a new robot, remade or reset by Becile in an attempt to force her into the mold he wanted her to fit in? Hare didn’t know. She wondered if it would be painful.  
Her systems shut down, and Hare plummeted.

A forest. Leaves crunching beneath her feet. Life, all around her, even in the cold of Autumn weather. Squirrels in the trees, deer just past the thick of the foliage, all thriving around her. The cold was taking over, but the forest and all her children were still flourishing. Soon they’d all disappear, but they would always come back. It’s the way of life; ups and downs, warmth and freezing cold, light and shadow. The sun rises and sets. There will always be moments where everything seems bleak, but if we look to the future, summer will come back again and bring happiness with her. The sun will rise again, lighting the way.

Hare walked, stopping at the edge of a lake clear as pristine glass. She knelt, peering down into the water, staring at her reflection. Where she expected copper skin and sharp teeth she was taken aback to see a female robot staring back at her. Purple hair that faded into a bright pink just grazed the edge of the water, mismatched green and blue eyes and long lashes staring back at her. Though most of her plating was colored porcelain white, her lips were shining copper with a familiar green patina. Her eyes were surrounded by the same copper as well, also tinged with patina. The way she wanted it to be.

“Hi-Hi-Hiya.” Rabbit greeted. Hare drew back, almost slipping in the mud in her shock. “You finally found me. Are you gonna stop ignorin’ me now?” Rabbit continued, undisturbed. The water stayed strangely peaceful.

“What?” Hare asked, quite confused. Rabbit huffed impatiently, frowning at her as if she was awfully dense in the head. Like there was something obvious here and Hare just wasn’t getting it.

“You keep pu-pu-pu-pushin’ me down. Pretendin’ you’re not just me in different skin.”

“I’m not you.” Hare argued with a flare of annoyance. She couldn’t possibly be Rabbit, not after everything she’d gone through. Not when Becile still ruled over her with an iron hand.

“You are!” Rabbit exclaimed, leaning in closer, hands pressing to the surface of the water keeping her trapped. It remained sleek as glass. “You a-a-a-are.” She repeated, quieter. “You n’ me are one and the same. Hare, Ra-Ra-Rabbit-- we’re both identical.”

“No,” Hare bit back bitterly, “You’re a girl.” And I’m not.

“But you are.” Rabbit retorted quite simply. “You call yourself a girl, you feel like a girl; you are a girl.” Hare gaped at her. It couldn’t be that simple. “And so-so-so-so-so am I. We’re both Rabbit, really.” Hare shook her head, tugging her hat over her eyes as she averted her gaze. Rabbit was relentless, though, and continued, “We bo-bo-both love Ma. We miss Pappy. We wanna go ho-ho-home. Ain’t that all true?” Hare’s chin wobbled. “All that’s different is you ca-ca-ca-call yourself Hare. ‘Cause Becile wants you to. Do you wanna live your life trailin' after him like some dog?”

“. . .I hate him.” Hare admitted heatedly. Rabbit nodded solemnly.  
“Me too.” She murmured. “I think. . . I think you should stop holdin’ yourself back. ‘Cause when you stop thinkin’ abou-bou-bou-bout what everyone else wants and start thinkin’ of what you want, it’s easier to be happy. And we deserve to be happy.” Oil tears glistened in Rabbit’s eyes.

“You. . .” Hare started, looking for some reason to be angry, and stopped, her shoulders slumping. She shifted, leaning in to meet Rabbit’s firm, stubborn, defiant gaze challenging Hare to argue. To say she was wrong, when all that tumbled past her lips were truths. They hurt, piercing her carefully hardened skin, but they rung true in her core. Rabbit was right. All Hare wanted was to be happy. To stop being angry and sad and all tangled up with a million emotions sharp as knives. Wordlessly, Rabbit held a hand out to Hare.

And Hare reached in, into the depths of uncertain waters still clear enough to show her reflection, and let Rabbit pull her in.

Rabbit came to suddenly, thrown back into her body only to have absolutely no clue where she was. The only thing she could control of herself, she found, was her eyes. She calmed the panic rising in her wire veins, taking in the glowing green rocks around them with wonder. They hummed a different song than her core, darker and less stable, low voices that seemed to reach for her. If she could’ve, she would have shuddered. These crystals were untamed and dangerous; why were they here?

“You will hand over your collection,” Becile thundered, capturing Rabbit’s attention, “Or my copper elephants will raze this place to the ground!”

The unfamiliar man he was speaking to shook his head. “No, Thaddeus, my old friend.” He said, looking sad at the state of the man before him. He glanced to Rabbit and all her sharp teeth, “Look at you’ve made, good sir. A machine devoid of emotion and elephants designed for war.” Rabbit blinked. She ignored the jab at her; it wasn’t personal. What she focused on was Becile’s threat. He was seeking something from this man?

“Doctor Babclock,” Becile seethed, “I need these crystals to formulate more Green Matter. Hand them over immediately.” Babclock shook his head again. Green Matter. Green Matter was unstable, wasn’t it? Rabbit recalled her time as Hare, when Becile experimented with the dangerous crystals. It hadn’t turned out well, suffice to say. Yet he sought out more.

“Leave,” He ordered Becile. But Becile stood his ground.

“Hare,” He spoke, and Rabbit automatically turned to face him, as she had been unwillingly programmed to do, “Seize him.” Her feet moved, following his orders, but her core pulsated a bright blue of defiance drawn from her very core. Break free, she thought in tandem with the fading Hare, no longer will you obey a man such as him! A song, loud and clear as the gong of a bell, resounded through the air. Only she could hear, but only she needed to. She refused to lie down and take the beatings Becile handed out. She refused to stand back and let people get hurt. And so she stepped in front of Babclock, lips turning into a snarl. Hare had snarled at innocent people who didn’t deserve it. Becile deserved each and every one.

“No.” She spoke, “I refuse.”

Becile’s face rapidly colored red in fury. He stammered for some sort of command while the doctor’s wide eyes burned holes into her back with his shock. Rabbit stepped closer to Becile, and he stepped back in fear. She bared her teeth at him, the ones he’d given her, sharp and deadly and made to hurt. Now she would use them to protect. No longer would she harm another. She would not be used, toyed with or manipulated, for someone as cruel and cold hearted as Thaddeus Becile. He did not own her; she was her own person, and she would free herself from his chains.

The man, cowardly without a fancy robot to protect him, turned on his heel and dashed out of the mines. She watched him go, wondering if that was it. It felt too easy, though. All these years and he was just. . . running? It couldn’t be. Rabbit stood there for a moment, lost. She didn’t dare let herself relax. At her side, Doctor Babclock seemed to be holding his breath. Waiting for disaster.

“Wait, didn’t he say--” Babclock spoke up, just as a loud explosion rocked the earth beneath their feet. Dirt rained down on them from the cavern’s unstable ceilings. Babclock shielded his face and cringed down slightly, but Rabbit was unbothered and whipped around, looking to the entrance where the destruction had begun. There an enormous, gleaming, copper elephant stood, a hulking being made to destroy, eyes glowing green and Becile nowhere in sight. Rabbit barely held back her curses and instead shifted herself into a ready position. For what, she wasn’t certain, but she would be ready nonetheless.

The robot raised its trunk, and down came the entrance in a wave of dust and crystals. Rabbit leapt to shield Doctor Babclock from the crystals cascading down towards him, tackling him bodily as the ores rained down on them. The crystals shattered like glass against her back, low songs warbling as the life bled from them. Most of the rocks bounced off her body, though some left sizable dents in her arms and back. She held her tongue from cursing and looked down to the trembling, frightened man beneath her. He was safe, though rightfully terrified. Oh, her teeth were awfully close to his face, weren’t they? She pushed herself away from him, brushing off dust and debris as she frowned apologetically. Doctor Babclock surprised her, though, with a sigh of relief.

“Thank you,” He said gratefully, clearing his throat. “I do believe you saved my life.” Rabbit would have colored had she the skin for it, but a pleased smile was enough to communicate her own thankfulness. Both of them looked to the collapsed entrance as panicked miners began to congregate around them, distant explosions still shaking the ground. Rabbit looked to the ceiling and quickly assessed the damage. Cracks lined the walls. The cavern was no longer safe; at this rate, it’d come down around them. The thought was grim, but unfortunately true. It was dark, too, though her eyes glowed bright enough to illuminate the scared faces around her.

“We have to get outta ‘ere.” Rabbit decided as calmly as she could. “This pla-pla-place is about to fall apart.” Gasps and assorted noises of worry rang out through the crowd. Nobody wants to die, especially not where the light of the sun can’t reach. Rabbit looked out to the people around her and straightened her posture. She glanced to Babclock; he was still in shock, having gone silent after being saved. His eyes stayed glued to the collapsed entrance, where shattered crystals still glowed eerily like ectoplasm. She couldn’t imagine his shock and grief; not only had his friend betrayed him, he’d also damned him. Rabbit didn’t know what to do.

“There’s another exit further down,” One of the miners piped up with a trembling voice, wringing his cap in his hands. All of them looked terrified. And their leader wasn’t responding. Babclock was out of commission; Rabbit would have to take the lead. Though it scared her to death, the thought that their lives would be in her metal hands, she picked herself up and nodded. For their sake and for hers, selfish as it was. Freedom was too close to give up now.

“Let’s go!” She barked, and onwards they marched, further into the mines. She moved to the front beside the man leading the way, pasting a confident grin on her face. They could do this. They would make it! Her hydraulics thundered in fear, but she pressed onwards, desperate to keep up morale.

For a few minutes it was quiet, save for the occasional tremor or murmur of a worried worker, but a harsh quake had Rabbit skidding to a stop as crystals started falling once more. It was awful timing; just meters away she could see the exit. They had to move and move now. Reacting fast, she tugged a stranger out of the way of a sharp rock, beckoning people forwards towards safety. “Keep moving!” She shouted, pushing people towards their destination. Towards the light. Chaos erupted as people scrambled to get to safety, shouting and screaming and shoving.

A pained scream behind her had Rabbit already backtracking, shoving people aside as kindly as she could to reach the injured woman whose arm had been caught under a falling boulder. Crimson blood shone in the light of Rabbit’s eyes, tinged green and blue. Rabbit held back a gasp. She’d never seen this much blood in her life. It was horrifying, and the pain this woman must’ve been in. . . Rabbit’s core twinged. Though queasiness struck her, she focused on her immediate task.

“It’s alright,” She soothed the woman as best as she could, “I’ve got you.” With incredible, robotic strength, strength that Pappy had gifted her with, Rabbit heaved the boulder upwards. Her chassis whined in distress, fingers bending inwards from the weight, but she struggled past it. She could survive if she broke a bit; these humans could not. “I need someone to grab her!” Thankfully, someone heard her call and took the woman into their grasp, supporting her weight as they hastily limped towards the exit. Rabbit stayed at their sides, saving people from what she could, until they finally burst into the light.

Victory was short lived, however, as they found themselves staring at a battlefield riddled with copper elephants and robots beating them back. Rabbit gasped, hands flying to her mouth in unadulterated shock. The area was already littered with gears and torn metal, oil shimmering in the hot sun. What an awful sight! In the distance, the trumpet of an elephant stole her attention, dragging her to the horizon where she saw two magnificent beasts facing off. A giant copper elephant, larger than life and twenty times the size of the ones terrorizing the landscape. But against it stood the tallest, most beautiful, gigantic giraffe. Shining in the sunlight, bright and wondrous, it stole the steam from Rabbit’s boiler.

Once upon a time, Pappy had spoken of a creation he dreamed of making. A giant giraffe unlike any other, powered solely by steam, just like Rabbit. He thought that if he could make a feeling being like her, he could make the tallest giraffe ever seen and amaze the world. Originally the towering machine had been intended for a woman he claimed to love, but when she died, Pappy abandoned the plan. Until Ma started to help him with it. Last Rabbit had seen, Ma and Pappy had only just finished the blueprints when Pappy grew ill.  
Now, here it was, everything Pappy had dreamt of and more. She could see its blue eyes from where she stood, forever and a day away, and oh! Oh, its song rang across the battlefield true and strong, a hymn of hope that had Rabbit grinning from ear to ear. This was Pappy’s legacy. How proud he would be, seeing the magnificent beast traverse the land. Though Rabbit could gawk for hours, her priorities lay elsewhere. This was a battle, and people could die here. It wasn’t just robot versus robot; the workers from the mine and Babclock had been unwillingly dragged into the fight.

So, tearing her shirt sleeves off, Rabbit threw herself into dressing what injuries she could with her makeshift bandages. She would do what she could; her best was better than nothing at all.

Rabbit had no clue where to go, but with the help of the slightly less dazed Doctor Babclock, she at least found a direction to lead the humans in. Generic Walter robots made simply as cannon fodder helped clear the way, but there were times Rabbit had to intercede. The first encounter with an elephant terrified her; she had been cornered, defenseless save for her sharp teeth and fingers.

It stared her down menacingly, trunk rising to slam down on her. She rolled out of the way just in time, wincing at the amount of water left in her boiler. Too low for comfort. Still, she slashed outwards at its hide, surprised to find that she was able to pierce the skin. But not by much. Damn it! Rabbit refused to back down. She would fight, or they’d all die here. The machine trumpeted, her ears ringing. A metal ear swooped backwards and knocked into her, throwing her a few feet backwards. She clenched her teeth, ignoring the sound of her own tearing metal, and pulled herself upwards. Her song lowered into something more menacing. The elephant, to her surprise, sang back its own low song of warning. It was the strange sound of Green Matter, of course, but it was still a song in its own right. Startled, she chirped a few notes of confusion, but the elephants simply scuffed a foot against the ground. It would not negotiate; Becile didn’t make his machines to have mercy.

“Run!” Rabbit shrieked to her human comrades, bracing herself for another attack. The elephant roared a song of war, and Rabbit responded in kind. As it ran towards her, she rapidly assessed her options. Humans running to her right stopped her from dodging that way. Others behind her stopped her from dodging left, fearing that the elephant wouldn’t stop if she moved. She had to decide, and fast. Her only option was to defend as best as she could. With her feet planted in the dirt, Rabbit rose her arms up to defend.

The shriek of tearing metal stole her mechanical breath away. Oil splattered across the dusty ground as Rabbit’s arm tore off from the impact of the elephant’s trunk. She let out a cry of pain, her remaining hand flying to the leaking stump left behind. Onto one knee she fell, staring up at glowing green eyes that would be her downfall. Drip, drip drip, the oil went, terrified steam clouding her vision. This was it. The elephant raised its trunk to deal one final blow--

Its face exploded in a mess of shrapnel Rabbit barely turned away from in time. She recognized the song before the person; it was a firm, steady tune that reached out to reassure her with the familiar tinge of Blue Matter. In this form he was almost unrecognizable, but Rabbit knew those metallic pieces of his titanium alloy spine.

“Spine,” She gasped, relieved. He had saved her! God, was she glad to see him, altered as he was for battle.  
“Rabbit!” He responded, alarmed, as he saw her ruined arm. Rabbit stood on shaky feet and shook her head. She could wait for aid; these fleshy, fragile humans she’d escorted this far could not. People were injured. Some, even worse, were dying, as much as she hated to admit it. Her failure resulted in people getting hurt. It was up to her to try and save as many people as she could.

“Ne-Ne-Ne-- OIL LOW-- Nevermind that!” She exclaimed, ignoring the error message that unwilling slipped past her control. “I can be fixed. People can’t. We go-go-go-gotta help ‘em, Spine!” Spine looked from her to the crowd of injured, exhausted people behind her. He seemed as though he wanted to argue, but the low rumble of another mechanical elephant distracted both of them.

“Fine,” He snapped, “You better hold on! Don’t you dare shut down, got it?” Despite his harshness, Rabbit could feel his worry from where she stood on swaying limbs. She gave Spine her best grin.

"Got it.”

At some point they met up with The Jon, but between her own malfunctions that grew more and more persistent with each puff of steam and drop of oil shed, the people who died under her care, and the endless sea of elephant enemies, Rabbit barely registered the change. Keep who you can safe, she thought, and try to stay alive. Dodge, take a hit, shut down what’s not needed to conserve energy. At some point she disconnected her speakers and stopped talking, picking up on the strange language of songs that Spine and Jon used. Though it took some getting used to, the change helped her stay awake just a short while longer.

They were so close to safety. Jon had informed her that rescue had come for the humans, so their destination had been pinpointed, at least. The fight wasn’t over, but the humans would reach safety. The automatons would aid the remaining workers to get there, and deposit the ones who’d died. Rabbit’s nonexistent stomach twisted at the reminder. Dead. Under her care. She shoved aside the guilt for now; she had to focus on those who had made it this far. If she stopped now, it was over for all of them.

Both Spine and Jon insisted that Rabbit stay there as well; they were weaponized and so they’d be headed back to battle, but Rabbit was injured and on the verge of shutdown. Though they’d momentarily stubbed the oil leak, the automaton was still losing water fast. Rabbit had argued as soon as she found out who was driving the ginormous giraffe, desperate to rush to her Ma’s aid.

“M-M-M-Maaaaaa can’t be all-all-all-- OIL LOW WATER LOW-- alone! You go-go-gotta let me go!” Rabbit cried, having turned her speakers back on just to protest. Darkness vignette’d her vision, but she stubbornly refused to let herself drop down.

“You won’t make it!” Jon argued, “You’re hurt. You gotta stay here and be safe.”

“He’s right.” Spine affirmed. “We’ll keep her safe, Rabbit. Trust us.”

“I doooooooo--” She tightened a screw on her neck and tried again, “I do.” Steam puffed past her lips. “But I can’t sta-sta-sta-stand by. I gotta help.”

“You’ll be staying with the humans.” Spine spoke, tone not allowing any argument. Rabbit could have argued for hours longer if not for the fact that her speakers shut themselves down, as per emergency protocol. Too stubborn to let them realize she was growing weaker, Rabbit pretended she was leaving it at that with a huff. Onwards they trudged, Spine and Jon battling any elephants who dared to cross their path.

Rabbit’s feet began to lag behind her mind’s commands. She slowed down, falling behind, struggling to keep her eyes open. The darkness pulsated in closer, darkening her vision further. She resisted the urge to sing a sad tune from her core, putting her energy into walking forward as best as she could. Babclock looked back at her, worried. He seemed to be speaking, but Rabbit’s microphones shut down and left her in eerie silence. She stumbled a bit. The doctor reached out to steady her, but she raised a trembling hand to stop him. That backfired quite quickly as the limb dropped to her side, locking itself into neutral position. Uh oh. Babclock turned to shout to Spine and Jon in alarm just as Rabbit’s knees gave out on her quite suddenly, sending her to the ground in a heap with a loud clang.  
This was it, wasn’t it?. Rabbit wondered if Pappy felt the same way when he passed; did he fade out slowly? Did it hurt? Errors flashed across Rabbit’s eyes. She was so tired, though, that it was so easy to clear them and stare at the broken ground. Pappy was calling her, she thought. If she just closed her eyes, she could hear him. Maybe even feel him shaking her, as someone flipped her onto her back. . . oh, what a pretty shade of blue the sky was. How sad. It was too nice a day to be at war. Two people leaned into her field of view. Spine and Jon were the last people she saw, and so she smiled, letting her eyes slide shut. Maybe Pappy was happy, then, surrounded by the people who loved him as he passed.

A mirror. There Rabbit stared, and there stared back the same reflection she had seen in the water. She raised a hand and watched the reflection raise its hand in tandem with her. As she smiled, so her reflection did too. The same porcelain paint and copper patina shone back at her, satisfied and happy as can be. But she noticed something strange on her wrist-- a cuff, with chains attached. Rabbit reached for it, though her fingers only grazed the edge of the metal before it exploded into dust. She looked back to her reflection, only to see her showing off her bare wrists with a grin.

“You broke your chains.” Her reflection spoke, voice echoing. “I’m proud.” Rabbit moved to respond, as she always had in these strange dreams, when her reflection began to change. The glass rippled and warped, shifting until her Pappy stood there, his hands already outstretched for her. He stepped out of the glass, smiling from ear to ear, the same smile he saved just for her and Ma. Rabbit let out a strangled gasp as he wrapped his arms around her. Her arms moved before her brain caught up, enveloping him in a tight hug. He was here. He was real. Breathing, warm, laughing as Rabbit spun him in enthusiastic circles. And, to her shock and relief, oil tears streamed down her cheeks. Hot and familiar, deeper than programming or bugs.

“Pappy,” Rabbit sobbed, unwilling to let go even as she stopped spinning, “I missed you so, so much!” Pappy breathed a saddened sigh, patting her back. He carefully drew back just enough to lean down and look her in her mismatched eyes, a hand on her shoulder. With his other hand he untangled his goggles from his wild curls.

“I miss you too, my lovely daughter.” Daughter? He knew? His eyes twinkled knowingly. “But you cannot stay.” He turned her around to look behind her, where another mirror stood, this one reflecting Ma, Spine, Jon, and the twins, even. All looking to her longingly. Ma’s hand was on the mirror, palm pressed against the glass as if she wanted to reach out for Rabbit. Pappy set the goggles snug on Rabbit’s head from behind, stepping up beside her. He held a hand over his heart, almost as if to try and soothe an ache left there. But he was still smiling when he turned to Rabbit. To his daughter.

“They’re waitin’ for me?” Rabbit asked, quietly stunned. Pappy nodded.

“Of course they are.” He said, as if it were obvious. Like she should have never considered thinking otherwise. His eyes seemed sad as he continued, “Now. . . Go live out your life while you still can, Rabbit.” He murmured, nudging her forward. “I’ll see you again."

“Promise?” Rabbit demanded wetly, sniffling as she held out a pinky finger. Pappy looked surprised for a moment, but she’d always done that, hadn’t she? Surprised him with another new trick. He chuckled, grinning at her wobbily. 

“Promise.” He echoed, no louder than a whisper, and wrapped his finger around hers.

Rabbit took a moment to treasure those precious seconds, before she carefully withdrew her hand. She didn't want to leave, but he was here. She knew that for certain now, had finally found the closure she'd needed. And now there was a whole new life waiting for her. Her Ma, her brothers, her family-- they were waiting for her. She studied Pappy for a moment, taking in every detail she could, committing it all to memory. She wouldn’t forget him, not ever. Her fingers touched the goggles atop her head, reassuring herself they were still there, and she turned to the mirror with her family waiting for her. Pappy was gone, this she understood now. She’d see him again, but not now. It wasn’t her time. After all, her family was waiting for her on the other side. She steadied her bellows, calmed her bubbling boiler, and reached out for her Ma.

Ma took her hand, and tugged her into reality.

Rabbit woke, and the first thing she saw were five pairs of eyes watching her anxiously. She took another moment to take them all in. Spine, tapping his fingers against his crossed arms impatiently. Jon, leaned in close, waiting for her to awaken. Ma, knelt in front of her, holding her hand. The twins, one leaned against a worktable and the other fiddling with a wrench nervously. The first thing she did was just. . . stare. Convince herself this was all real. This wasn’t Becile’s workshop; this was Pappy’s, messy and lively and still decorated with Rabbit’s old drawings as she learned fine motor functions. Blueprints stacked carelessly on top of the other riddled the tables not being used for what looked like random projects and tinkerings. Tools carelessly thrown aside made for hazards on the floor for those not paying attention. She was here. She was home.

The second thing she did was feel for the goggles atop her head with her free hand. To her amazement, there they were perched, the worn and scratched metal familiar under her newly fixed fingers. Oil tears sprung to life in her eyes, and she let them fall. She could cry again! She squeezed Ma’s hand as tight as she dared, feeling the goggles, feeling her new, long hair and her brand new cheeks vents feverishly. No more sharp teeth. No more knife-like fingers. No more Hare. Cool relief washed over her like the ocean’s waves on a hot summer day, flooding her systems as she slumped under the overwhelming feel of happiness.  
She was free.

“Rabbit,” Ma called, rubbing her arm comfortingly, “I. . . I talked to The Spine and The Jon. We went looking, and we found something. Would you like to see?” Curious, Rabbit nodded, scrubbing at her tears. If it was from Ma, it couldn’t be bad, right? From behind Ma, Spine gave her a thumbs up. Jon wiggled in his seat with barely contained excitement.

“You’ll love it.” He promised as one of the twins handed Ma a mirror. A mirror? Ma handed it to Rabbit. Very, very carefully, recalling the last time someone had given her upgrades, Rabbit took the small hand mirror and peered into the slightly scratched glass. She almost dropped it from her shock. Who else was staring back at her but the same Rabbit she’d seen in her dream months ago, porcelain skin and copper metal, patina and all? Her lashes were long, hair the same ombre into pink, lips full and feminine. She felt her chest and found a rise there, curves for the shape of a woman’s body. Oh. Exactly like she’d wanted. The tears doubled in quantity and speed.

“Oh no--” Ma started, thinking she’d made a mistake, but Rabbit surprised her with a hug as she tossed the mirror aside carelessly. Someone caught it, but she couldn’t care less. She was home, she was herself! She was a Walter once more. Had she ever not been, she wondered, when her family had been here all along?

“Thank you,” Rabbit sobbed, “Thank you so so mu-mu-mu-much, Ma! An’ Spine, A-An’ Jon, all of ya!” Ma hummed happily, rubbing circles on her back.

“I’m so glad you’re home, darling. I love you so much.” She murmured.

“I love you too, Ma.”

Sometimes Rabbit will look to her reflection as she passes it by, and she’ll give it a wide grin. Taking in the body she'd wanted for so long, cherishing the grin her Pappy had given her. It was lopsided, just like his. Her new siblings don’t ask; as long as she’s smiling, they’re happy.

**Author's Note:**

> I really hope you enjoyed the story. As I mentioned in the beginning, this was a story inspired by friends on Amino. Soos and Conan were talking about Hare, and since I had no clue who that was, I asked for some explanation and they gladly gave, haha. This idea just kind of hit me and so I decided to just go for it. It was a wild ride to write, but I had so much fun with it. I hope you had fun reading!


End file.
